Film Review: "Road House"

The remake of the classic 1980s cult film is a surprisingly fun film, thanks in no small part to Jake Gyllenhaal's enduring movie star appeal.

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Warning: Some spoilers follow.

Like many another geriatric millennial, I’ve always had a crush on Jake Gyllenhaal. He’s one of those stars who exudes charm and charisma, and there’s always a remarkable soulfulness to even his darkest of performances, evident in films like Donnie Darko and Brokeback Mountain. He’s one of those stars that, I think, asks you to not just lust after him but also to love him. Unsurprisingly, social media–particularly Gay Twitter–has been abuzz for months ever since the first stills from Road House started to make the rounds, showing off the actor’s very ripped physique. Now, at long last, we have the full film to enjoy, and I have to say that I quite enjoyed it. It may not hit the same heights of camp glory as its predecessor, but it’s still dumb and macho and a hell of a lot of fun. What more could you ask for, right?

When the film begins Gyllenhaal’s Elwood Dalton is a bit of an outcast from the underground fighting world, thanks in large part, it turns out, due to a fatal incident in the ring, but his luck changes when he’s asked to be a bouncer for a beleaguered road house in the Florida Keys. Soon, however, it becomes clear that Dalton is in for far more than he bargained for, since a local petty crime boss wants the property that the Road House sits on, and it’s not long before all Hell breaks loose.

There’s no question that this film succeeds to the extent it does thanks to Gyllenhaal. He’s lost a bit of the boyishness that has always made him so endearing–every inch of him, from his rippling abs to his prominent shoulders to his face has been chiseled to perfection. Yet for all that he very much fits the mold of a UFC fighter, there’s still something endearing about his performance. Even at his most violent and angry, he wears his physique lightly, and he delivers his lines with the faintest bit of puckish mischief. Just as importantly, he also has a conscience, and it’s only when he’s pushed to the brink by the violence and cruelty of others that he really let’s go of his inhibitions. He might be the sort of western hero alluded to by the daughter of a local bookstore owner–the film makes this a sort of recurring motif–but he’s far from the strong, silent time. Dalton is even capable of mercy, letting a member of a motorcycle gang go when it becomes clear he’s not really part of the criminal goings-on.

The rest of the cast manages to hold their own, even if they are sometimes a little forgettable.  Daniela Melchior plays Ellie, the sassy doctor who briefly ensnares Dalton’s heart, but their romance rarely has enough heat–or enough development–to really effectively land or make much of an impact. More effective and compelling, I think, is Jessica Williams’ Frankie, the owner of the Road House, who makes the most out of her scenes, giving us a feisty heroine who would have made for a much more effective and convincing love interest. Special kudos should also go out to Hannah Lanier, who plays Charlie, the co-owner of a bookstore who isn’t afraid to speak truth to Dalton (or to brandish a baseball bat against those who want to hurt her store). They’re all in on the fun, and all of them, including Gyllenhaal, wear their roles lightly on their sleeves.

Indeed, the film as a whole is surprisingly light in tone. There is violence, to be sure, but almost every moment of bruising is accompanied with some joking, usually by Dalton who, to be fair, does give his adversaries a chance not to pursue this path. Are these scenes almost always silly? Yes, but to me this seems exactly the point. The tonal shifts can sometimes be a bit jarring, but I found that they had a rhythm of their own that is really quite charming when you just let yourself enjoy things a bit. 

If there’s one sour note in this symphony of silliness, it’s Conor McGregor. Even before I learned about his various antics in the real world, I found his character to be absolutely insufferable to watch, with his bantam strut and his execrable line readings. Perhaps McGregor’s obvious lack of acting talent or charisma wouldn’t have been so noticeable had his opponent been anyone other than Gyllenhaal, but the Irish fighter is so far out of his depth that one almost feels sorry for him, emphasis on the almost.

Billy Magnussen, on the other hand, is to my eyes perfectly cast as the petulant and hubristic Ben Brandt. I’ve always had the feeling that Magnussen is one of those actors who is just waiting for his ship to come in, and he brings a seething energy to his performance that makes him the perfect choice for a one-note villain in a B-movie like this one. By the time that he meets his demise at McGregor’s meaty hands–having somehow managed to survive being thrown through the air on a crashing boat–one can’t help but feel a sense of relief. That, to me, is the mark of a good B-movie villain.

Ultimately, Road House is a B-movie with A-movie aesthetics. This isn’t a problem for me, personally, and in fact it’s one of the things that I enjoyed most about it. For all of its gloss and its nicely-choreographed fight scenes–to say nothing of its A-list star–it never takes itself too seriously, and it doesn’t encourage us to do so, either. Instead, all it asks of us is that we lean in and embrace the silliness and brawn of it all (in that sense I disagree with those critics who seem to think that the film at any point asks us to take this straight).   

In the end, there’s a redemption of sorts for Dalton, who rides out of town on a Greyhound at the very end, having purged the beleaguered town of its corrupt elements. It’s the perfect western-style ending, suggesting as it does that there is ultimately no space for the type of violent masculinity that he so clearly represents. Given how accepting he is of his fate, though, it’s hard to feel too sad about his fate. Somehow, though, we feel that this whole experience has changed him for the better. Wherever he washes up next, one can hope that he will now be a more refined type of man, one who retains just enough of his dangerous spirit to be an effective protector of the weak with the guiding conscience that keeps him from becoming a menace to society. 

Here’s hoping!